


part 2: down came the rain and washed the spider out...

by mydreamworldisbetter



Series: learning to be remade [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asexual Natasha Romanov, F/M, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, No Smut, Slow Burn, and any smut i wrote would be painful and unsexy, i am super sex repulsed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:33:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydreamworldisbetter/pseuds/mydreamworldisbetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanoff meets the Winter Soldier and eventually, somehow remembers that she knows how to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the right partner

“Come in. We’re pulling you from the field,” said the note inside the hotel pillow. For a moment, she considered pretending she hadn’t ever received the note. She was so close to completing her mission. All that was left was engaging her mark for the final time; that would’ve gotten everything she needed from him. But painful memories tickled at her spine, reminding her of what happened when she didn’t obey her masters. She stuffed the slip of paper in her pocket and grabbed her bag and drove her car as fast as it could go until she was at the building. And then she was running full tilt to Ivan’s office and pushing the door open and slapping the slip of paper onto his desk.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Natalya, slow down,” he said, in the tone that one might use to calm a wild animal.

“I was almost done. You could’ve waited twelve more hours to recall me and I would’ve had it. You always do this to me. Why do you always do this?”

“I can’t have _always_ done something. I haven’t worked with you for _years_ , little tsarina.”

She grabbed his collar, pulling his head inches away from hers. “Don’t call me anything but my name.” His face was stone, but his pulse had speeded up, and sweat beaded on his forehead and the end of his nose. Good. She slammed him down. “What do you want?”

“We have a new asset,” he said. “Well, not _new_ , technically. But new to our facility. He’s here to train the new widows, to work with the best of our agents.

“And?”

“And you’re going to be working very closely with him. Sparring, missions. Everything. You’ve needed a new partner since we lost dear Alexei. If everything works out, this new asset is _it_ for you.”

“Couldn’t you have waited til I was finished with the last job? I was so close...”

He waved his hand dismissively. “We have lesser agents already finishing for you. But I admire your dedication to your work. It’s quite inspirational.”

She glared at him. “I already told you. I’m working solo now.”

“You don’t get to decide that. Every decision is ours.”

Fire sparked in her eyes, but the flames did not alight. They only smoldered a little. “I hate you,” she said, the words dispassionate and indifferent.

“Thank you for sharing your opinion, Mrs. Romanova.”

She smiled coldly. “I’ll train with him.”

“You’ll do what we tell you with him. If we want you to kill him, you’ll kill him. If we want you to fuck him, you’ll fuck him. You’ll do whatever we say. You have to. We’ve conditioned you well. Go now. He’s in the gym. And change out of those ridiculous clothes.”

In full control of herself once more, she left him. She was made of ice, of stone, of iron, she reminded herself. She was venom that courses through blood and stops heartbeats. She was Black Widow. She felt the bloodlust rise again, and she licked her teeth in anticipation.

* * * * * * * *

The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to meet him. She was curious to see if he would live up to his reputation. When she slipped through the doors, straightaway, she noticed the handlers placed strategically around him. She wondered if they were there to control him or keep everyone else safe. Two of the handlers saw her. They must’ve known who she was, for they started whispering to each other, eyes wide. She walked up to one who stood apart from the rest, a blonde, confident young man with a smirk instead of a mouth.

“I am the Black Widow,” she said. “I am supposed to train with your assassin...”

Keeping a careful distance between them, he trailed his cold eyes down her body. “I’ve heard of you. The work you’ve done is wonderful. Inspirational, even.”

“I’m here to work,” she said, giving him the cold eyes right back.

“Of course.” His glance was shrewd and calculating, more like a robot than a man. He has worked his way up from the bottom to be here, she thought. And his Russian is accented. He’s an Englishman. Or an American.

His coat was tight against the muscles of chest and arms; he threatened everyone around him without saying a word.

“Will you introduce me to him?” she asked.

“Yes.” He turned his head and called softly, “Soldier.” The man who had been standing quietly in a corner of the room, hands folded, raised his head. “Come.”

He walked like a cat, all coiled, oiled springs and silent paws and claws ready to be unsheathed. He was the most dangerous man she had ever seen. But still, as he came towards his handler, she sensed the unwilling, utter submission in his spirit. In his past life, she thought, maybe he was not like this. I wonder how much it took to break him.

“Soldier,” the handler was saying, “this woman is your ally. You will spar with her and train with her. You will not hurt her fatally. You will go on missions with her.”

The Soldier nodded. He seems familiar, she thought. Maybe it is because of his eyes. Nearly everyone who was in the Red Room had eyes like his, haunted and tortured and the person behind them not quite _there_. But he had the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. They were dark, and in them, he looked lost and scared, like a little boy who’d been her target once.

She turned back to his handler. “How do I address him?” she asked.

“Soldier.”

“And you. What do I call you?”

He smiled, reeking of manipulation and selfishness and cunning. “Andrew.”

“You may call me Widow,” she said. Then she took the Soldier by the arm and pulled him with her because she didn’t want to feel those men watching her body or scrutinizing her movements anymore. And anyways, she wanted to observe the Soldier out of his handlers’ direct authority.

“Where...” his voice was rusty... “where are we going?”

“To train.”

“But where?”

She sighed. “You will see, Soldier.”

His eyes flickered ever-so-slightly when she said the word, like it caused him pain. “Do you dislike it,” she probed, “when I call you Soldier?”

He swallowed hard, looking off into the distance. She knew she ought to have felt bad, but she was the Black Widow, and empathy was not within her skillset.

“Do they have your files here?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“You haven’t gone through their luggage?”

He shook his head.

“Have you ever even read your own file?”

He shook his head again.

“You aren’t curious? About what they say about you? Or where you came from?”

He just stared at her.

“This is strange,” she said. “I am Black Widow. I am nothing but a machine. And even _I_ have read my own files.” She loosened her grip on his arm. “Follow me, please.”

In the facility, there were a few small rooms with training equipment and mats. And because she was the Black Widow, she’d managed to get the keys for one of them. It was so far out of the way that most of the people there didn’t know it existed. But if this man was her new partner, then she could show him, she reckoned. And he didn’t look like he talked much, so her room was safe.

“Warm up,” she said. She stretched her muscles, luxuriating in their slight pull and burn. As she rose on her tiptoes, hands outstretched as if to grab the sun, she felt eyes on her. He was staring at her. “Soldier?”

He flinched and turned away.

“Don’t you stretch before sparring?”

He shook his head.

“Alright.” She splayed her hands flat on the floor, sinking into the movement. “How do you want to fight? Grappling? Punching? The whole deal?”

“I do everything,” he said. “I do not hold back.”

She smiled. Her chest rose and fell a bit more quickly. It had been so long since she’d fought someone _good._

She bowed to him as he stood across from her in the ring. She remembered bowing with her friend in the Red Room once. That was the fight that ended...

He was already tackling her for the takedown, and she almost lost her balance before she pushed herself against him to stay standing. She slipped out of his right arm’s hold easily enough, but the metal arm held her tight, and she could not extract herself from it. She looked into his face, expecting to see a victorious smirk or something human. But his eyes were still sad and distant, like the person there had fallen asleep or died or froze to death. She kneed him viciously in the groin, and a _whoosh_ of air left his nostrils, but he still did not let go. She had an elbow and two legs left to use, so she started striking at his face until he was supposed to be bewildered but he wasn’t he was flipping her and now she was on her back and he was pressed close against her and that _thing_ happened like it had with Ali. He looked into her eyes and something clicked.

And they fought. And in the fighting, they knew one another better than if ten-thousand words had been spoken between them.

As she stopped to breathe, she felt another presence in the room. Ivan was leaning against the wall. “It has been nearly five hours,” he said, amused. “Don’t work yourselves to death on the first day.”

“I know my limits,” she said shortly.

“Mm. Soldier, holding up alright?”

The Soldier nodded. Ivan slunk off down the hallway. When he was gone, the Soldier turned to her. His hands hung loosely at his sides, but his jaw clenched. His mouth opened and closed, and he breathed in deeply. “We will fight again tomorrow?” he said finally, barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Natalya said. “Tomorrow. Meet me here early. 0700.”

He nodded, then wheeled about and left.

The thing happened, she thought. When we fought. The way we fit together. It was...magic. She shook herself. What did I care? He is just a mission.

* * * * * * * *

“I looked in your files, you know,” Natalya said, as she twisted out of an armbar.

“Dammit,” the Soldier grunted. He always got frustrated when she escaped his hold. “Wait.” He dropped his hands, and she kicked his head. Hard. He shook it off. “You...read...”

“Do you want to know what is in them?” she asked.

His eyes were full of longing, imploring her to tell him. But he could not speak or nod.

“Programming?” She knew. She understood. “I think...I think they would hurt us if I told you what they said. But I know your name.” She could read the letters in her mind, their English roundness making up the sounds. She’d said them to herself many times since she’d read the files. James Buchanan Barnes. But if they heard her call him an English name, the punishment would be great.

“I want to know...Natalya...please.”

It wouldn’t be right if she didn’t give him at least part of his name. “Yasha. You were called Yasha.”

* * * * * * * *

It was their first mission together, and they were playing brother and sister. She’d wondered how good his acting was, if he was only really skilled at brute force or covert operations. But here he was, sitting next to her at the bar, a light-hearted grin spread across his face from ear to ear. He was magnetic. The joy didn’t reach his eyes, but it didn’t matter. He would have been convincing to anyone.

The man on the stool next to her tapped her arm. “You sure he’s your brother?” he shouted above the dull roar.

She frowned at him, brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I understand you, sir.”

“It’s just,” the man said, “that you don’t look much alike?”

She giggled breathily. “Abram,” she called. “This man here doesn’t think we’re siblings.”

Yasha turned, eyebrows raised. “The poor fool,” he grinned.

“That’s because you don’t know our parents,” she simpered. “Abram looks just like our mom.”

“And Valeria is the spitting image of our papa. Trust us.”

“I was there when he was born,” she said. “Red-faced and ugly.” The crowd around him laughed. “So yes,” she said, turning back to the man who’d asked her the question in the first place. “I’m sure.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s just that you...no. Never mind.”

“Go on,” she said. “I won’t be offended.”

“You two...you have this spark. This dynamic. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen. At least not between brothers and sisters.”

“We’re just best friends,” she said. “We’ve always been.”

The man nodded, his head bobbing guiltily. “My apologies, miss.”

“It’s quite alright,” she said. Underneath the table, she squeezed Yasha’s knee. He turned inquiringly to her, and she pulled his head down to her ear. “He’s the one,” she murmured. “And he suspects that something is going on.”

Yasha laughed uproariously as if she’d told him a joke, and Natalya allowed herself a bemused smile. The man slunk off to a different part of the room, and she sighed. suddenly exhausted. She raised the shot glass of vodka to her lips and swallowed it effortlessly.

* * * * * * * *

Natalya flipped through the file once more. Their mission was simple. The target was in a band of guerillas. He was the only member that the government had been able to locate. The objective was to follow him, find the base, kill the majority of the rebels, and bring back the leaders for questioning. The troop did not pose any real threat, but they were like mosquitos--annoying and demoralizing, sucking power away from the authorities drop by drop.

“Have any idea how you want to take this one?” she asked. Yasha was in the corner of the hotel room, digging through his suitcase.

“What shift do you want?”

“I like watching at night. But your arm and your...menacing presence? Both things the locals might remember if questioned.”

“Did you see me? I can act. I have been trained. And I have this disguise...”

Natalya yawned. “Alright. We already know where he lives. So tomorrow, you be there, eyes ready--”

“Natalya. I’ve had missions before. I know what I’m doing.”

“Sorry. Old habits die hard. I’m used to training new agents.” She looked around the bare room. “This is the best they had to offer?”

“It’s only a little village. But look out the window.” He tapped the glass. “Mountains. They’re...”

“Yasha? Yasha? Are you alright?” He was frozen there, breathing fast, eyes glazed over. “Soldier.”

He swung away from the window. His face was wild with fear and pain. His good arm clutched the false one where the skin joined the metal.

“Yasha. Breathe. Please.” I wasn’t trained for this, she thought. They didn’t tell me what to do if he broke, if his conditioning slipped.

He was huddled on the floor now. She knelt next to him and placed her fingers against his pulse. His skin was burning hot and slick with sweat, and his heart hammered violently. She held him closely to her, yet still, the panic went on and on and on. “James,” she whispered speaking his name in English. “James. James Buchanan Barnes.”

A shudder went through him, and she felt the tension in his body rise still further. What did people do when those around them were this scared? A faint thread of a song popped into her mind. She couldn’t remember who had sung it to her or why they had, but she remembered how it made her feel. Safe. Tranquil. Sleepy. And so she sang it to him. And somehow, it worked. When she looked into his eyes, he was there again.

She lay down beside him on the floor and wrapped her arms and legs around his body and pulled a blanket over the both of them. “You’re safe with me, Yasha. You’re safe. You’re safe.” She kept saying it, over and over, as if by embedding the memory of the words into her muscles she could make it true.

* * * * * * * *

She woke up before he did. His face looked clear and untroubled. She glanced out the window. The sun was just slipping into the sky, mountains silhouetted in the light. Sliding out of bed, she pulled the curtains closed. Then she climbed back onto the bed.

“Yasha,” she murmured. “Wake up.”

His eyes opened. He looked lost for a moment, like he didn’t know where or who he was. Then his eyes lighted on her, and a tiny smile spread across his lips. “Natalya.”

“Do you remember...what happened last night?” she asked tentatively.

He shook his head.

“Your conditioning slipped,” she whispered.

He stared at her. “Slipped. Did I...” He looked at his metal arm, tightening his fingers into a fist and then releasing them.

“You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t hurt anyone. I was just worried. I didn’t know what to do.”

“My handlers have words they say. Or they put me in cryo. Wipe me. It’s probably getting past time.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t do those things.”

He smiled at her again, shy and uncertain. “What did you do?”

She cleared her throat. “Um. I...sang. I sang to you. A lullaby.”

“Thank you.”

There was a moment where neither of them moved or spoke or breathed.

“The mission,” Natalya said finally.

He stood up. expression unreadable. The Soldier was back. He pulled on his civilian’s costume, slipping weapons into every available pocket and layer of clothing.

“Sustenance?”

He shrugged. “I’m fine. For now.”

“I’ll meet you there when it’s time.” She tapped her earpiece. “You’ll contact me if you’re not at location?”

“Of course.”

He walked out the door. She watched him walk down the street and disappear into the early morning sun. Sighing, she glanced around the room. They hadn’t unpacked. “Might as well,” she muttered aloud.

She remembered the briefing papers saying something about the KGB fixing the room with a safe inside the walls for their weapons. It’s probably behind the headboard, she thought, scooting the bed out of the way. She ran her fingers over the surface, looking for a bump or irregularity. A nail stuck out of the plaster; she pulled it out, and a section of the wall swung open. Lovely, she thought, as she pulled the equipment bag over to the safe. She pressed her left thumb to the pad, and the door slid aside. She stuffed the bag inside and locked the safe and pushed the bed back.

Yasha’s voice crackled in her ear. “Natalya?” he hissed?

“I hear you loud and clear.”

“The target just returned home. I believe that he was out all night. His appearance is bedraggled and he appears to be exhausted.”

“Did he seem intoxicated?”

“Not at all. There were bruises on his face, and he was limping.”

“He was in a fight, probably. Very good.” She paused. “You’re alright?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t feel unstable?”

“No. I feel fine.”

“Just...try not to look at the landscape. I don’t want you to slip again if I’m not there to help. Okay?”

“Okay, Natalya.” She heard the smile in his voice, and she smiled too. She liked talking with him, fighting with him. Being with him. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Roger that.”

The crackling ceased. He had signed off. She sighed and sat down on the bed. This was the part of missions that she hated. The waiting. This was why she preferred working alone. When she was on a job, she didn’t want to rest; her mind was lit on fire, and the flames would not be quenched until she took down her prey.

“Yasha,” she whispered.

“I’m here.” His words felt strangely kind. Intimate.

“I don’t know what to do right now.”

“Wait for me”

“I don’t like waiting. I want to hurt something.”

“Natalya. This trip will not be long. The target is no longer careful. He will lead us to his camp soon, and then there will be lots of hurting for you. Sleep now.”

She laid back on the bed, listening to the sound of his breathing. “That’s the longest sentence I’ve ever heard you say,” she said, smiling wickedly.

He grunted. She could imagine the cold steel in his eyes melting a little bit, his mouth turning up faintly at the edges like it did when he was amused at something she’d said. “Don’t get used--”

His voice broke off suddenly. She heard the air rush out of him in a _whoof_ , heard men’s voices, clipped and efficient, in the background.

“Yasha? Yasha? What happened?”

His voice flickered in her ear, sleepy and resigned. “Don’t come for me...” She heard heavy footsteps and rapid-fire orders. Then, there was nothing.

I just put everything away, some voice in the back of her mind groaned as she moved the bed and pulled the nail and unlocked the safe and dragged the huge bag out again and pulled out as many guns and gadgets as she could carry. Her suit was underneath her civilian clothing, and she stroked her knife for good luck.

She tapped her finger twice on the communicator in her ear. That would put her through to...

“Ivan. I need someone to come and take care of the room. I gotta leave right now and I don't have time to clean up.”

“Widow, don’t do anything rash...” She took her finger off of the device so his voice would go away and slipped into the car they’d parked outside. The target’s house was only a couple of minutes away, and she sped there, swerving around vehicles going too slow for her panic.

The target’s back door was open. He’d left in a hurry. She scaled the the building next to his, to the roof where the Soldier had been watching from. There were bullet casings scattered all over the tiles, and she read in the dirt and dried blood that there had been a fight and that Yasha had not come out on top. And there weren’t any dead people. Highly unusual. She thought that he would’ve put up a better fight.

And then she saw it. A tranquilizer dart left behind. She picked it up and ran her finger over it. Must’ve been strong to take him out so easily, she thought. She slipped it into her belt to be analyzed later.

She tapped her ear again. “Ivan. Does the Soldier have a tracking device?”

“Of course. What’s wrong? What happened? I’ll send a team in...”

“I’ll brief you later. Don’t send a team unless I ask for one. Can you give me his coordinates?”

“I’ll send them to your device.”

The letters and numbers popped up on the GPS on her wrist. “Coordinates received.” The Soldier was less than a mile away, and his location wasn’t changing.

She drove as close as she dared, then parked the car in a stand of trees. The land was desolate, bare of buildings or people. She walked until she was directly over where the Soldier should have been. They couldn’t have known that he had a tracking device inside his body, and even if they did somehow know, there was no device before her.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” she muttered. She kicked at a clump of grass. The ground here was hard. Hard enough for the people to live underneath it instead of on the surface with its harsh weather conditions. _Oh_ , she thought. Of course they wouldn’t be in a building. Of course they were underground. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

She became aware, all of the sudden, that she was being watched. So, she thought, let them take me. She pulled a small explosive from her belt and set it up as if she were going detonate her way to the Soldier.

“Hands up,” murmured a voice.

She dropped the weapons and raised her arms.

“Keep them up,” the guerilla said. He was closer now, just a few feet away. She held perfectly still until she felt the cold barrel pressing into the base of her skull.

“So. The Metal Man’s mate,” laughed a nasal, louder voice. “Dmitry wasn’t exaggerating when he said to watch out for her. Said she was more dangerous, too. _Are_ you more dangerous, Black Widow?”

She jerked her head to get a better look at Nasal Voice. He shouldn’t have known that she existed, should’ve have been able to identify her. These men knew too much, she thought. That was why she had been sent. To assess how much they _did_ know and how much they had told others.

“I’m surprised she’s not fighting back,” Nasal Voice said to a burly, bearded fellow. “I would’ve thought that a few of us would be dead now. Must be all talk, the rumors about her.” He walked closer towards her and came closer still, until his body was pressed flush against hers. “She’s just a woman,” he called to Burly Beard, “a woman with a lot of fancy gadgets.”

He was on his back, her hands around his neck, before he quite knew what had happened. He gasped and sputtered and choked, eyes huge with fear. It made her content to see him like this, defenceless and terrified.

“There, there,” said Cold Gun, weapon still trained on her. “Vitaly meant no harm. Come now. I’ll take you to see the Metal Man if you’ll just stand up.”

She curled her body off of his, giving his throat one last parting squeeze. He scrambled to his feet and away from her. Cold Gun motioned to Burly Beard. The big man cuffed her gently, as if to reassure her that she wouldn't be harmed by them.

“This one will keep his distance now, I expect,” Burly Beard said, the ghost of a smile twitching at his lips, “and watch his words, too.”

Nasal Voice spat into the dirt, holding his neck.

It’ll bruise beautifully, Natalya thought. It’ll ache for days. She smiled sweetly at Nasal Voice. He glanced away.

Burly Beard waved hand. At least fifteen men peeled out of the underbrush, all holding guns. She hadn’t even seen them. I must be getting old, she thought ruefully. They slipped into formation around her, far away enough that she couldn’t disarm any of them.

“Nice,” she said aloud, nodding at Burly Beard. He nodded back, obviously amused. She really was impressed, however. The KGB made it sound like these men were a ragtag group of rebels. But the organized, well-armed group that surrounded her was far from it. She shouldn’t have been surprised; the KGB lied when it served them and dispensed truth like a miser gives away his gold.

Cold Gun was approaching her with a black cloth in his hands. “I’m going to need to put this over your eyes,” he said. “Please cooperate.”

She did. As they walked, she instinctively counted steps and pressed the feeling of the terrain and the atmosphere to her memory. She felt the ground change from grass and brush to stone and then concrete. A cave, probably. After 972 steps, they stopped. She felt them clip a heavier chain onto her handcuffs and shackle her ankles as well.

Cold Gun pulled the cloth off her head. “We have to be careful,” he said, almost apologetically. “Your reputation precedes you, you see.”

She didn’t answer. “Where is he?”

“We can’t let you see him just yet,” he said. She let her anger bleed through her eyes. “He means something to you?”

“He is everything,” she said, low in her throat, like there was emotion there.

She caught sight of Dimitri, their original target, across the room. He waved cheerfully at her. “Guess you aren’t siblings?” he taunted.

Cold Gun  unclipped her belt and took her pistols and the rifle and the concealed handgun she was particularly fond of and the knives (all thirteen) and stepped out of the cell--a cell? she thought. This was going to be annoyingly difficult. Technical. No room for any error.

“Please,” she said, “may I have some water?”

“Of course,” Burly Beard said. “We’ll send someone with a tray in a while.”

She sighed and slumped against the wall. Her hands were behind her back. Of course she could get out of the cuffs, but she didn’t think that she should just yet, and these were particularly uncomfortable. It could be worse, she reminded herself. They didn’t beat me. I could be bleeding and bruised. I could have broken bones. I could have been raped. Such things are not uncommon.

They locked the cell and walked away. She could hear their voices fade away as they disappeared down a hall.

“Widow, come in.” Ivan’s voice crackled in her ear.

“Here,” she breathed. They’d left a sentry to watch her, to make sure she didn’t do anything, and she knew the device would transmit the barest of sounds clearly.

“Mission report.”

“Not yet.”

“What do you mean, not yet?”

“I can’t talk to you right now. I’m being watched. I’m in their base.”

“That’s it,” he snapped. “I’m sending a team in.”

“Trust me, dammit!” she hissed. “I’ve completed harder missions than this.”

“We can’t risk anything happening to the Soldier. He’s loaned property.”

“He’s the Soldier. He’s fine.”

“Do you see him?”

“Then you don’t know that.”

“I’ve got to go. The guard suspects something,” she said. It was true. The skinny youth sitting on the bench outside of her cell was staring at her, eyes narrowed. She glared at him. She was playing the moody assistant, she’d decided. The Soldier was important to her, and she very easily became put out, and she could fight like hell. Even so, they’ll underestimate me, she thought with a flash of frustration and satisfaction both.

She turned to look at the boy again. He nodded his head nervously.

“Your first job with the big boys, eh?” she called to him.

His eyes opened wide. He shook his head frantically.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to lie to me.”

He blushed. “This is my first, yes.”

“Big man, growing up fast. You’ve got a family that you’re taking care of?”

“Y-yes.

“Father died fighting the government? You’re following in his footsteps?”

“How do you know all this?” the boy gaped.

“There’s only a few types of men,” she said, low in her throat, the way she knew males liked it. “They’re not too hard to figure out. You seem the noble kind.”

He gulped.

She struggled theatrically against her bonds for a moment then winced. “Do you think you could cuff my hands in front instead? It hurts like this...”

“Of course...”

Burly Beard strode into the room. “Sergei,” he said, “don’t you think it’s time for you to take a break?”

“Aw, come on,” Natalya said, glancing up at him from under her lashes. “We were only talking.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Sergei said, turning redder and redder by the second.

Burly Beard waited until Sergei’s quick footsteps could no longer be heard. “So you’re in pain?”

She shrugged. “My arms are falling asleep. I thought I could get more comfortable. Men are easy to manipulate. Especially the young ones.”

“Are you going to manipulate me?”

She shook her head. “You’re kind to me. Rather kinder than other captors have been.” She laughed ruefully. “These conditions are nice. I don’t want to try my luck.”

He smiled pleasantly. She smiled back. There was a cot in one of the corners; she struggled onto it and closed her eyes. She didn’t mean to sleep, but the sound of a tray being shoved through a flap in the door woke her. It had a glass of water and a bread roll and a napkin.

“How am I supposed to eat this?” she muttered.

The guard must’ve changed; Cold Gun was sitting at the bench now. She sighed loudly.

“I can get out of these cuffs, you know.”

He shrugged. Within two minutes, she was rubbing her wrists and chugging down the water.

“You’re good,” he said. “Try the ones on your ankles.”

“No thank you. I don’t want to be sedated.”

He laughed. “So. How long have you been doing this...agent thing?”

She froze. She’d been interrogated many times, been pumped with truth serum or beaten senseless or shot in attempts to break her. This was not an interrogation. She’d _know_.

“A long time. How long have you been a rebel?”

“Seven years. How old were you when they took you?”

“Excuse me?”

“I know about the Black Widow program. I know that they take little girls and turn them into murderers. How old were you?”

She bit her lip. “In my file, it says that I came to the school when I was seven. But I think I was younger. I don’t remember much of it.”

He nodded. “They take apart your minds and put them back together again however they please.” He looked at her, eyes full of warmth and compassion. “I’m sorry that this happened to you. I’m sorry that they did these awful things to you. I’m sorry.”

Natalya felt a rush of warm anger rise up her chest. How dare he pity her? How dare he stir up the dim pictures in her mind? It hurt so bad, the remembering. She gripped the bars tightly till her hands turned white from squeezing so hard. She reminded herself to breathe slowly, evenly. Control. Control and feel nothing. I am Black Widow, she thought.

“I do not need your pity,” she hissed. “I do not need...” Footsteps sounded in the hall. Footsteps and the _clink_ of chains. “Yasha,” she breathed.

It was him. His head lolled to one side, as if he were still drugged or hurt badly. They shoved him into the cell next to hers. His arms and legs were cuffed as well. He slumped against the wall then slid down to the floor. His chest rose and fell slowly and shallowly.

“What did you do to him?” she snapped. “Is he going to die?”

Nasal Voice laughed. Everyone else was silent. They filed out of the room, leaving the two alone.

“Yasha. Yasha. Yasha. Are you alright?”

He turned his head slowly as if it was too heavy for him to lift. His eyes were vacant, and his face was pale. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out.

“Did they drug you?”

He nodded his head once.

“Are you coming out of it?”

He nodded again.

“Don’t sleep. Don’t fall asleep. Yasha, please. Open your eyes.”

With great effort, he pushed himself up and opened his eyes. She noticed the thin sheen of sweat across his face and the way his arm trembled.

“Talk.” His voice was barely audible, depleted of energy.

“What do you mean?”

“Talk...to...me.”

“About what?”

“Please...”

Natalya grasped wildly at something to say. The only conversation she knew how to make was the false kind, the flirting, brilliant chatter she threw out at parties or the whispered, meaningless words she spoke when she was sleeping with someone. But just talking? She didn’t know how.

“When...when I was young, I had a friend once...”

* * * * * * * *

The words she spoke held no meaning. There was only the sound of them, rising and falling, lonely and desperate. They kept him awake. They kept him in his mind. He wanted to leave, but whenever he started to, red flashed across his vision. The red was beautiful, and it kept him warm, and he liked the way it felt and smelt, and he didn’t want to leave it. And so he stayed.


	2. if i could make amends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry i haven't posted in forever. i haven't given up on this story. i just discharged from treatment for my anxiety and have been editing everything that i wrote in that time.

Natalya struggled wildly against the hand around her throat. Finally, furiously, she surrendered. “I hate it when you do that,” she muttered. “I can’t ever break your hold. It’s not fair.”

A shy, sweet smile spread across Yasha’s mouth. It was strange, seeing him smile. It was like a secret message just for her, a code that translated to, I know you and I trust you. Sometimes, when they were receiving their assignments, they’d glance at each other from across the room; his face would remain stern, but his eyes would smile at her. She liked the way it made her feel, a little nervous inside and excited and awake. 

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Just give me a second.” She gulped water from the bottle in a corner of the room. 

“Are there cameras in here?” Yasha murmured, his lips barely moving, as he wiped sweat from his face.  

“Probably. Why?”

He shook his head. “Later.”

“Okay,” she said uncertainly. “Do you want to fight again?”

He nodded. 

“Good. I want to try out this throw that I’ve been working on. I gotta commit to muscle memory before I can use it.”

He grinned, his eyes alight. “We’ve got forever.”

* * * * * * * *

It seemed that when they were together, time slowed down and it was only the two of them left in the world. They didn’t talk a lot, but the words they did speak were enough; they filled Natalya up. And it was the occasional touch of hand to shoulder and leg to leg and even the brush of bodies when they walked past each other in the narrow hallways that made her feel safe and content. 

They knew each other intimately, without any artifice. And the more that they touched each other (not physically or sexually or any other discernable way) but though the heart, the more the ice within them melted away, so that there was just enough space left in  one person for the other. 

And they grew closer and closer, until sometimes it became difficult for them to distinguish one soul from the other.

* * * * * * * *

“Have you noticed how close the Asset and the Widow seem to be growing?” Ivan asked. 

Pierce glanced up at him from underneath his golden brows. “I see that as a positive aspect of their working relationship.”

“Aren’t you worried they’ll conspire against us? They’d be very dangerous if they decided to leak secrets or go on a revengeful killing spree.”

Pierce chuckled. “No matter how rebellious your Widow feels, my Soldier will forever be faithful. He can’t help it. He is a puppet in the hands of Hyda. We made him ourselves.” 

He stood up slowly and patted Ivan indulgently on the back. Ivan glared at him through red-rimmed eyes. He hated all the Hydra members’ condescending airs towards him and his men and even the Widow, great as she was. But at least she was content with the Soldier here. Her energy was focused off of her fury at Ivan, and she wasn’t making demands anymore. 

Maybe he’d have to design a new Widow program, one that conditioned and wiped and iced its little girls like the Soldier had been. Sure, the assassins wouldn’t be very adaptable, but they would carry out missions without argument. It would be far less trouble than what I’m having with Natalya. 

She’s aged me, Ivan thought. And I love her for it. I love the worry that she’s caused me because she is the most beautiful, deadly thing in the world, and any amount of pain she causes me means that she is in my life, and it has all been worth it. 

* * * * * * * *

“Did you plant the evidence?” Bucky was hunched over sniper rifle, studying the pedestrians below. 

“Yep.” Natalya swung over the ladder and leapt onto the rooftop to join him. “They’ll believe the Governor is the reason for his own son’s death. It’ll be beautifully misleading.” 

“Good.” He smiled at her for half a second before returning to the scope. She smiled back at him behind his back. There was nowhere else she’d have rather been than right there with him. The afternoon sun was warm on her face and her back, and Yasha was there, and she felt the deepest stirrings of happiness within her. She plopped down next to him. 

“When will he come out?”

He shrugged. “These meetings last forever. We could be out here all night.”

She sighed dramatically. “I’m bored,” she purred. “Entertain me.” She could practically hear him rolling his eyes. 

“Would you be quiet? I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Alright.” The night air felt cool on Natalya’s skin. She shivered. The silence felt too thick, too uncomfortable. It had never been like this before. She wasn’t sure she like it, the  _ thing  _ that was beginning to grow between them. She needed to clear it up so she could breathe...

“What was it that you wanted to talk abou--” 

Yasha turned to her, eyes wide, and made a violent slashing movement against his throat. She fell silent. He pulled out his earpiece. 

“What are you doing?”  

“Take yours out, too,” he said.

“Why?”

“So they can’t hear us.”

She yanked the piece out. It sparked protestingly. 

“We’ll get into trouble for this,” she warned.

He shrugged. “I’ll say it was uncomfortable or something. You know.  _ Lie _ . Like you taught me.” 

She glared halfheartedly. “Okay. What’s so important?”

Nervously, he ran his hands over his thighs. The metal one caught the moonlight and held its reflection. “Well. Ever since...do you...? That is, sometimes...”

“Yasha. Look at me.” His eyes were tormented and confused, the lost little boy look that he hadn’t worn for some time flashed across them helplessly. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.” 

“I won’t tell them anything, okay?”

“Okay.” His voice was broken, barely audible

“Speak.”

“There’s something...there’s something I’m supposed to remember.”

“What do you mean? This is what you wanted to tell me earlier, right? In the training room?”

He nodded and took a deep breath. “When they put me under, I think that maybe I hold onto the something as long and as hard as I can, because when I wake up, I feel like there’s something missing, something that I have to find. Something that I have to remember.”

“Have you....remembered it ever?”

“I don’t know. But sometimes memories get triggered....” He trailed off. 

“Like on our first mission together?”

He nodded. “I saw the mountains and all the sudden, I was falling, and there was someone’s name that I was shouting, and I loved them, I think. But if I try and and think past that, I starting hurting in here--” he tapped his head-- “and here--” his hand went to his heart-- “so I don’t, often.”

“I don’t remember much either. I figure it’s best not to,” she half-whispered.

“Why?” 

Her heart sunk. He didn’t understand. Of course he didn’t. Everything within him screamed to remember what had been ripped from his mind, while everything within her begged to forget the blood on her hands. She tried to put it into words, the reason she needed to forget.

“So I can be good at this. Killing. Lying. Everything they want me to do.”

“Has it been getting harder? To kill?” His voice was gentle. 

She breathed in sharply, and the burn of tears pricked her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but one slipped out and dribbled miserably down her cheek. And when one slipped out, others followed, and she found herself sobbing brokenly. She cried because she was losing even the tenuous facade of control she’d held--the ability to take life--and she cried because she couldn’t explain to him how it felt to carry the weight of one thousand and one sins, and she cried because she needed to wash herself clean.

“Natalya.” She leaned into him, and he put his arm about her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered through her tears. “This talk was supposed to be about  _ you _ , for  _ you _ .”

He kissed the top of her forehead. “It’s okay,” he said.

And because he said so, and because she trusted him, it was.

They were quiet for awhile. The stars in the heavens above them moved in accordance with their habit.

“What will you do,” Natalya asked sleepily, “if you  _ do  _ remember?”

“I’ll tell you, and you will keep it safe. And when they put me under again and take away my mind, you will be there when I wake up, and you will give me my memories back.”

“Will they put you in the ice again?”

“Yes. And probably soon.”

“Why? Nothing’s happened. You’re obedient. You’ve never rebelled.”

“They just do it. To make sure I remain compliant and empty.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, brushing her fingers against his chest, as if to say, “here I am,” and, “I will protect you.”

“You know,” Yasha said abruptly, “my handler says that I am shaping the century, that I am doing much good. But I do not believe that killing does good.”

“Be careful,” Natalya said, a smile in her voice. “You’re beginning to think for yourself.” 

He exhaled. “Do you think you’ll ever be free from this slavery?”  

“This isn’t slavery,” she said, jerking upright. She’d never considered her choicelessness as wrong or her lack of will as abnormal.

“Do you  _ want  _ to be here? Doing these things?”

“I don’t know. It’s not really my choice.” Her heart pounded in her chest, her lungs tightening and her stomach pinching at the idea of ever transgressing their instructions. This goddamn conditioning, she thought, suddenly furious. I can’t even think about rebellion because my body betrays me. 

“It  _ is  _ slavery, Natalya. What they did to you, to me, changing us against our wills? That’s...corrupt. Unjust. Evil.”

“Now I know why they put you under,” she said, half rueful.

His flesh-and-blood-and-bone hand stroked her face, ever-so-gently. “I think you have changed me, somehow. I’ve been awake for a long time, now. I remember meeting you and sparring with you for the first time (and 1,000 times after that). And I remember before that, how I felt cold inside. How easy it was for me to destroy. It’s harder now. I can do it, of course. And I will. But I don’t always want to.”

“I understand,” she said, her voice trailing off with exhaustion.

“You can sleep if you want to,” he said. “I’m watching.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her ear against his heart and let it soothe her. And as she slept, she dreamt of a lifetime ago, of fighting a silver-blonde haired girl with old, hungry eyes, and being wrapped safe in her arms, and how she felt peace and warm, and how she  _ felt _ . 

And when she woke, the sun greeted her, and Yasha was still with her. The gun was disassembled and put away. He must have killed the target while she slept. 

And she found that--even still--she felt.

* * * * * * * *

Before Yasha came, going on missions had been something of a relief in the sameness and slowness of her days, but Natalya found herself looking forward to the tedium of training her muscles and reflexes because he was there, doing it with her and time with him was not as sequestered and frightening as her own mind. 

So one day, like all the other days before, she waited for him to come to the little room, but he did not arrive, and to stave off the worry digging into her stomach, she danced. She could very nearly hear the music she’d danced to 1,000 times before, the most familiar sound from her childhood. Somehow, the physicality and focus necessary to execute the choreography made her feel more present, more grounded, and after awhile she could breathe again. She hadn’t liked the dancing much when she was younger, for Ivan had forced the girls to do it until their feet bled, until the movements were a part of them. But because it was her choice, she found a certain, searing pleasure in it. 

Slowly, she became aware of a presence in the room. She felt, rather than saw, Yasha behind her, and she slowed her pirouette to a halt. He was staring at her intently, as if confused and enthralled both.

“What were you doing?” he asked, very close to her.

“Waiting for you,” she retorted, keeping her distance. 

“Will you dance for me?”

“What?”

“I liked the way you looked, like you were flying. And I liked the way it made me feel. I liked  _ feeling _ .”

She hesitated for a moment, but he looked so beautiful and intent and full of longing. So she danced for him. And she was bewitching, a wild animal, a red fox, a flitting hummingbird, a winsome otter. And one moment, she spun too close to him, and he reached out and took her arm and pulled her flush against his body, and her heart pounded din rhythm with his, and they danced together to the music in their minds until Ivan burst through the doors, an ugly sneer on his face.

“The hell are you two doing? This time is for training, not a date.”

“I wanted to brush up on our ballroom dancing skills,” Natalya said coolly. “We cannot improve in any other aspect. Why do you care?”

“Didn’t look like any ballroom dancing to me,” Ivan protested.

“Times have changed since a woman last allowed you to dance with her,” she said, mockingly arching one eyebrow.

Ivan snorted disbelievingly and slammed the door behind him. 

“We’ve got to be more careful,” Natalya half-whispered, half-giggled. 

Yasha pressed his lips firmly together to keep his smile from welling up and slipping out. “He’s angry.”

“Good. Old son-of-a-bitch needs some shaking up.”

Yasha shook his head. “Be careful. He’s got more power than you remember. And I want you to be safe.”

Natalya glanced away uncomfortably. She wasn’t used to someone caring for her for her own sake. “We should probably start stretching,” she said, still avoiding his gaze.

”Will you dance for me again?” he asked under his breath.

She paused, thinking of how it felt to fly for him, to show him how she felt through the movement of her body and to know that it touched a deep part of him. She decided she liked that. 

“Someday...”

Her whispered word was the breath, the essence of a promise. 

* * * * * * * *

“I love you, I think.” The words came tumbling out of her mouth before she realized they were there. Yasha turned slowly to look at her. They were sitting on a roof, and and the sunrise over the plains was resplendent, and the air was calm, and her heart was happy. So the words fell out even though she had not told them to. 

“Natalya.” He tugged her even closer to him and, very gently, kissed the top of her head. 

The way he said her name held an affirmation; it gave her everything she needed to know. She felt warm inside. 

“How do you know? That you love me?” he asked after a while.

“When I was training in the Red Room there was this girl.” Her brow furrowed with the pain and effort of delving into her past. “I sparred with her often, and it felt right and magick. I loved her. And when I spar with you, I feel the same. So I know. I love you.”

His smile spread slowly across his face, sweet and rich like honey. “So.”

“So.”

And for that moment, everything was right. 


	3. with all my shadows

They were walking along the dingy hotel hallway, and she reached up and kissed him. She didn’t  _ want  _ to, persay, but she knew that in normal relationships, people were kissing by now, and he probably wanted kissing, so she decided that it was a worthy sacrifice in the end. 

She was mildly surprised to find that she didn’t hate it like she hated all the other kisses she’d had. He tasted of borscht and whisky and sadness, she noted dispassionately as her lips moved against his. 

He was frozen for a moment; she could feel the anxiety radiating off of him. But soon, he sighed and kissed her back, and it was alright, but she’d rather have been sparring with him or something. He was breathing heavily when they stopped, and there was a strange, hungry light in his eyes.

“Natalya,” he whispered. She pressed one more light kiss to his lips and turned to go to her room, but he had caught her wrist, and he had that desperate, lost little boy look in his eyes, and he was whispering over and over again, “please don’t leave me please don’t please,” and so she followed him into his room and stared at the bed, unsure of what he wanted. He disappeared into his bathroom and walked out again a few minutes later, shirtless and dripping with water. He walked over to her, very close, and trembling a little, drew her chin up and kissed her. 

“Do you like that?” he asked. His forehead was wrinkled with worry. She must’ve seemed unenthusiastic or shy or something...

She shrugged, pretending that nothing was wrong. “Do you?”

He nodded, then flopped onto the bed, grinning a little self-consciously. “Here. Beside me.”

Anxiously, she lay beside him, keeping a careful few inches between them. Please, she thought. Please don’t want me like  _ that _ . It’ll ruin everything. 

He leaned across her, and her body tensed without her telling it to, but he was only reaching for the lamp’s switch. She breathed out relief and settled in closer to him. He fell asleep sooner than her, and in his sleep, he wrapped his legs and arms around her, and she smiled, because this was the most beautiful she had seen him, and she loved him. 

When she woke up, she couldn’t remember why someone was in her bed and why that someone had his arms and legs tangled up in hers. Her heart beat frantically until the someone sighed and rolled over so she could see his face. 

“Yasha,” she murmured. She’d  _ kissed  _ him yesterday. She’d never kissed someone she actually cared about. And he seemed to enjoy it. But this would change everything about their relationship, and that worried her. She didn’t know if she wanted it to turn sexual or romantic or whatever-the-hell normal people did. I need some air, she thought. I need to think about this. 

She tried to slip out of the bed, but his hand grabbed her wrist. She sighed and sunk back into the ratty quilt. 

“Natalya,” he breathed.

“I’m here.”

His impish smile greeted her. “Thank you.”

She found herself blushing. “What for?”

“For staying with me.” He pulled himself upright and leaned in close to her. “And for the kiss.” His voice was velvety-deep, sent shivers down her spine. He kissed the place where her shoulder met her neck, and she found it hard to breathe. Her stomach churned, and she broke away from him abruptly. 

“We still have a mission to finish,” she said. “And they keep track of our vitals. If our heart rate goes up all-the-sudden...”

He groaned and slid out of the bed and pulled his discarded shirt over his head. “Let’s go.” She could feel his eyes burning into her back, and she took a deep, helpless breath.

* * * * * * * *

For the first time since Yasha had come, Natalya was relieved to return to the base. She didn’t want to face his eagerness, how hungry he was for her. She bit her tongue until her own blood flowed freely, a kind of punishment for her decision.

She spent her resting day in bed. Yasha knocked on the door several times, but she ignored him. She couldn’t do this. I’m too damaged, she thought, too broken, too unwilling. If only...if only it wasn’t me that loved him and him that loved me. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands.

The next day, she had to be back in the gym to train. Yasha was waiting for her, a secret, special smile spread wide across his face. She could barely meet his eyes. When they sparred, they didn’t fit as well together, failed to make their usual fighting magic. She couldn’t predict his moves; neither could he anticipate hers. They both ended up breathing hard, bruised and cut and hurt.

“Natalya, please. What’s wrong?” He reached out and cupped her cheek. 

“Soldier. This is inappropriate.” 

“Natalya,” he breathed.

She dared to sneak a look at him. His eyes were filled with hurt and confusion. She felt a flash of guilt but pushed it away. It was for his own good. Kissing him had been a mistake as had telling him that she loved him. Even calling him Yasha, that had been wrong. 

“I don’t feel well,” she said firmly, leaving the room. She didn’t even pause to unwrap the cloth from her hands; instead, she yanked it off as she strode along.

She slammed the door behind her when she got to her room, but it swung open immediately. He was right behind her. 

“Leave me alone,” she growled. 

“No. Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“This was all a mistake.”

“A mistake? How can it be a mistake when you make me happier than I’ve ever been? I am awake, alive,  _ feeling _ because of you. Because of this, what we have.” He grabbed her hand, stroked the nail-marked, scabbed skin. “You feel it too. I know you do. You said that you love me. You...you gave me my name. You--” He was breathing hard, and his eyes were filled with tears. “This is the best part of my life, Natalya. Our magick is not a mistake.”

Her jaw ground down hard. “I’m bad for you. I’m broken. I can’t give you what you want.”

He knelt before her, touched her face tentatively, gently. Even his metal arm was gentle on her skin. His heart was so good, so pure. 

Black Widows always kill their mates, she thought hopelessly. And I break everything I touch. But I will not break him. 

“All I want is to know you, to love you. To have you love me.” He stroked her cheek, pushed her hair behind her ear.

She shook her head and nudged his hands away. 

“Please, Natalya. Talk to me. I don’t know what’s going on.”

She stood up, her heart heavy. “Go.” She made her voice mean, her eyes narrow, her mouth hard. “Leave.”

Shaking, he stood left, hands clenched into fists, every part of his body screaming pain.

She locked the door behind him and sunk against it, breathing fast. Her throat ached; every instinct within her told her to fling open the door, call his name, wrap her arms around him and never let let go, tell him over and over again that she was lying, that she loved him, that loving him was the best thing she’d ever done. But she was Black Widow. She was stronger than her body. At least, she  _ wanted  _ to be. She was  _ supposed  _ to be. 

And she breathed and regained her control. 

* * * * * * * *

The space between them was impenetrable; it was icy cold and forbidding. Even the pilot noticed that something was wrong, though (wisely) he didn’t say anything. All six hours, Natalya stared out the window or at her notes, and Yasha stared at her, and they didn’t say a word to each other. 

When they landed, she grabbed her baggage and swooshed past him, eyes haughty and cold, too good to even look his way. He didn’t know what he’d done to make this happen. Maybe he’d been too eager. Maybe he’d pushed to far. Maybe he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did and she was actually going to betray his trust and...and--

Yasha took a deep breath and shouldered his luggage. No, he thought fiercely. It is real, what we have... _ had _ ? It was more real than anything I’ve ever known. He followed her down the ramp and into the waiting vehicle. She sat as far away from him as possible, folding herself into the left door and seat. Her breath fogged the window over.

They drove for a long time, whizzing past cities and towns and villages until finally, they were very deep in the countryside. Everything was green all around them, yet the mountain peaks were covered in snow.

Finally, he cleared his throat, for the silence was too strange. “How long until we reach location--”

A sickening screech tore into his ears as the car swerved off of the road and flipped over, rolled down and down and down into a ditch. The world spun and turned black, and he fought to stay awake, but he couldn’t breathe or see or think, and his eyes closed...

* * * * * * * *

The smell of spilt blood jolted Yasha awake. Dully, he struggled to sit up. It wasn’t afternoon anymore; the sky was dim. He forced his eyes wider open and tore away the seatbelt that trapped him upside down and dropped to the ground, groaning. His entire body ached, every breath and movement sending shooting pain through him. His ribs were broken or cracked, he noted mechanically. He squinted in the feeble light, searched for her, and there she was, a few feet away, completely still. He dug out from under the wreckage of the car. He struggled to her and froze, terrified. She lay in a puddle of her own blood. The ground was stained red with it. 

“Natalya.  _ Natalya _ .” He dropped down beside her, ignoring the spasm that shot through his bones at his movement. Tentatively, he touched her. Her body was cold to the touch. He searched her neck for a pulse and found one, faint and sluggish. But she was alive. She lay on her side, curled into a protective ball. Tortuously slow and careful, he turned her over. His whole body tensed, recoiling at the chunk of metal that protruded from her stomach. He sat back on his knees and shivered. The night was bringing cold with it here in the mountains, and that might kill her if shock blood loss or damage to her internal organs didn’t.

Unsteadily, he limped to the car and searched for a medical kit amidst the scattered luggage. He found one in Natalya’s bag of favorite weapons. Crawling now, he pushed himself to travel the few feet between them. The kit had needle and thread and disinfectant and bandages. That would have to do for now. 

He took a deep breath and pulled the metal from her stomach. Blood bubbled from the wound, and it kept coming.  

“Oh God.” I’m not trained for this, he thought. What do I do? I can’t let her die. She’s not bleeding out. Not here. She’s not leaving me like this.

Frantically, he packed the gaping hole with gauze and pressed down as hard as he could. Please stop, he begged. Please stop please stop please stop. 

The sun went down, and the cold came in, and he stripped off his jacket with one hand and wrapped it around her because he didn’t dare let up for more than a second, didn’t dare to check if her life was still draining away. Her breath was still coming in slow, shallow beats, and he prayed to something that she’d live. And when the sun came up and she was still breathing, he lifted his hand ever so slightly. The gauze, crusted over with dried blood, stuck to his hand as he removed it, and he pushed it back down again. 

Natalya coughed. Her eyelids fluttered weakly.

“Natalya. Are you awake? Are you with me?”

His other hand, the human one, had been holding hers for a long time. He felt it twitch in his, and he smiled, blinking fast because he wasn’t crying. His eyes were just tired. 

She swallowed. “What...happened?” she breathed.

“The car crashed. I...I thought you were a goner. I thought we both were.”

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. “We’re...too...tough. Injuries?”

He found the ghost of a smile on his own face. “My ribs are cracked, but I’ll be okay.” 

“ _ Mine _ , dumbass.”

He felt a surge of relief roll over his body. “Oh, yes. Sorry. I, uh, found a chunk of metal in your belly. I pulled it out. I didn’t know what to do...”

Her face twisted. “Remember now. Car...flipped. I tried....to get...away.” 

“Shh. You can tell me later. I just need to know how to fix you.”

“Get the gauze. Clean it. Pack it again. Wrap me up. Tight.” 

“Got it.” He tried to slip his hand out from hers, but she squeezed it as hard as she could, her eyes pleading. He smiled, stroked hers with his thumb, and got to work.

* * * * * * * *

The ditch was deep, and hills rose up on either side of the road, hemming them in. Yasha found a hollow in the bottom of one of the hills and dug deeper into it so that it would closely fit a person or two. As gently as he could, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the cave. He managed to start a small fire at the entrance, and Natalya huddled there, soaking in the heat and trembling, her face pale and drawn. Yasha dashed from car to burrow, pulling supplies from the wreckage and checking on her to make sure she was still breathing.

The driver was dead, head at a strange angle, terror frozen permanently on his face. Yasha rifled through his pockets. All he found was a handful of crumpled papers. He stuffed them into his pocket and grabbed the bag with food and drink in it. 

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“Water.”

He rifled through the bag and found a flask. Natalya must’ve packed it.

“Give me that,” she breathed.

He unscrewed the cap and handed it to her. Raising it to her lips, she took a deep draught then choked on the alcohol. The movement must have strained her wound, and she cried out, fear and terror tightening her face.

“Natalya. Breathe. It’s alright. I’ve got you.” He dropped down beside her and stroked her cheek. “You’re going to be okay. Just calm down.”

“It burns,” she moaned. 

“I know. Just breathe.”

She tipped her head back, inhaled and exhaled slowly, shakily. Her whole body quivered, and little whimpers escaped from between her tightly clenched teeth. Her hand scrabbled on the ground, and he grabbed it, squeezed it, murmured serenity into her ear. Her harsh gasps slowed and evened out, and her eyes fluttered closed. 

When her breaths were even and he was sure she was asleep. he pulled the papers from his pocket. There was something about the crash that didn’t seem right, for the sky was clear and there was no one on else on the road. And there, amongst old receipts and lists, lay a massive wad of cash. He shook his head. Poor bastard died for thirty thousand rubles and didn’t even get to spend them.

He looked down at Natalya. She seemed so tired, so fragile. He brushed a kiss on her forehead. A rush of anger swept through him at the wrong that had been done to them. Someone wanted her dead. Someone wanted to take her life, blow it out as thoughtlessly as they would a candle’s flame. If the driver was still alive, if there was a way to identify who had hired him, he would hunt them down and kill them all. But the driver was dead, and there was only the money itself as proof of the transaction. And Natalya was still alive; his anger died away with the rhythm of her breaths. 

He stretched, noting how his ribs hurt less and less. His accelerated healing was finally taking over. Good. He’d be able to get them out of there soon. He grimaced ruefully. It was just his luck that the mission had called for two sleeper agents. They were totally isolated, had no transponders or earpieces or any way to contact anyone at Hydra or the Red Room.  But they would make it. Above all else, they were survivors. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the dirt wall. 

* * * * * * * *

Every since Yasha had found her, Natalya had been stuck in some sort of haze. She heard everything going on around her, but she couldn’t seem to make her body listen. A few times, she’d woken up enough to talk to him, to take a drink, to squeeze his hand, but the effort exhausted her. And for awhile, she’d felt her body take charge and begin to heal. But somehow, infection set in, and now she burned. It’s your own hell, her vicious mind laughed. You deserve it. It is a just punishment for all your sins. Fever burned away at her, sweat pouring off of her body in waterfalls while she shivered with chills.

“Yasha,” she called. Her voice wouldn’t work; her body had trapped it. But he woke up anyway, attuned as he was to her, gasping, her name on his lips. 

“What’s wrong? Oh God,” he cried. He struggled to his knees and examined her as best as he could, lifted the blankets off of her stomach and pulled the dressing away. She heard him rustling around, and something burned in her wound, and she tensed and arched and moaned and shook. 

“Shh, it’s alright, I’m just cleaning it out, you’re going to be okay,” he said mindlessly. “I don’t know what went wrong. You were fine and now...Natalya. Please. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.” His voice quavered, and she heard a muffled sob, a gasp of fear and terror. 

No matter what I do, I still break him, she thought helplessly. We’re so intertwined that my pain is his. I can’t protect him. I will destroy him no matter what I do. So. If I live through this it...

But darkness slipped over her again, the mask over her eyes and her mind, and she couldn’t remember what she was thinking. She couldn’t remember anything at all except the pain.

* * * * * * * *

“Yasha?” Natalya opened her eyes. The sun touched her, warmed her, felt sweet on her skin. Gingerly, she rolled up, hand over her stomach. The wound wasn’t tender to the touch anymore, and moving only pinched a little. She was in a cave of some sort, she noticed, dug out of rich soil. Weapons and food and clothing were scattered all around her, and huddled in a heap in the back of the cave-room was Yasha. She dragged herself across the ground, and with shaking hands, reached out to him. But before she could touch him, his eyes opened. When he saw her, they lit up. 

He scrambled to his knees. “You’re okay?”

She nodded. “It feels better now. How long have we been here?”

“Four days. You’ve been asleep most of the time, or unconscious maybe. I was so worried--” His voice cracked, and he glanced down, breathed deep. “I was scared for you. I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

She smiled haltingly. “Well. I did.” 

“I’m so glad. I wouldn’t have been able to bear it, you dying with it like this between us.”

She looked away, swallowed hard. “Yasha. Don’t--”

“Natalya, we need to do this now. Why did it change between us?” Helplessly, he pushed his hair from his forehead. “Do you hate me?”

“Of course not, no. I could never hate you. You’re so good...”

“Then why?”

“It’s because I love you,” she ground out, as if it pained her to speak.  

“What do you mean?” He pushed the hair off of his forehead in consternation. 

“Don’t you know? I break  _ everything  _ I touch. I can’t...I can’t break you. You’re the best thing I’ve ever known, and I can’t...I  _ won’t _ .”

“Ah, Natalya,” he murmured, taking her face between his two hands.

Tears spilled from her eyes. “But I’ve realized that...that no matter what I do, I’m still going to hurt you. Even if we aren’t together, I’ll tear you apart.”

He shook his head, fervently, concernedly. And she reached out tremblingly and touched his cheek, ran her fingers through his hair and held on, felt his beard and his eyebrows and every crevice of his face. “So I’ve decided that it doesn’t matter anymore.” She smiled haltingly through her tears. “I’m going to break you no matter what.” She shrugged. “Might as well do it thoroughly.”

Yasha pulled her to him, breathed in her scent and stroked her hair and laid tiny kisses everywhere he could reach. “I love you,” he gasped. “I love you I love you I love you.”

She smiled, relieved and bitter and helpless. 

* * * * * * * *

When they were strong enough, they packed up camp. It wasn’t hard. All they needed was food and water. They buried the rest of the gear and left the wreckage from the car alone, the body of the driver decomposing the clear air. 

“How do we get out of here?” Yasha wondered as they started down the road.

“Walk, I guess,” Natalya sighed. 

So they walked. And as they walked, they soaked up the sun, and they spoke sparingly, but it was enough to erase the weeks of hurt and pain that had built up. 

“I’m sorry I did that to you, left you in the dust like that,” she said.

“It’s okay. We’re okay now.” He snuck a look at her, loved the way that she kicked up dirt and tufts of grass on the side of the road. “I missed you so bad.”

The corners of her lips turned up slightly. “I know. I missed you too,” she whispered.  

Then,

“Why do you think you’ll break me?”

“Because.”

“Talya.”

“It’s just what I do, okay?” Uneasily, she gnawed at her lip. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Then his arm was around her, pulling her to him almost roughly, and he pressed little kisses to the top of her head. His touch was foreign to her now; she wasn’t used to it after the weeks of stony silence. Yet she pressed against it, let it fill her with warmth. It felt just right. 

* * * * * * * *

After three days of seeing nothing but trees and mountains and the occasional bird, they began to worry. 

“We were supposed to have confirmed our location by now, so at least they know  _ something’s _ wrong,” Natalya said brightly as they trudged forward.

“Unless it was them that ordered the attempt,” Yasha mumbled resentfully. 

“Yasha.”

He glanced at her, found the laughter in her eyes, and smiled tiredly back.

“Maybe someone will come along and pick us up,” she said.

“Maybe.”

Giddily, they snuck glances at each other, grinning and warm inside. 

“I’m so happy,” she whispered finally. 

“I can tell.”

“I hated our fight.”

“If I recall correctly, you were the one...”

“Shh.” She pushed her finger to her lips, cocking her head. “Hear that?”

He concentrated on the stillness, ears pricked. Nothing. “I don’t-”

“ _ Listen _ .”

A buzzing sound vibrated through his body. “Sounds like a chopper.”

“For us?”

“God, I hope so. We’re out of water and almost out of food and these shitty boots keep giving me blisters on top of my blisters,” he complained. 

She shoved him, leaned into his solid body. The feel of him comforted her. “Wanna make a signal fire?”

“Might as well. Got nothing better to do.” He waved his arms at the wide world around them, waggled his eyebrows mockingly. 

She giggled again. She couldn’t stop laughing, it seemed. She didn’t want to. 

And as it turned out, the helicopter  _ was  _ for them, and it took them home. And back there, all was as it should have been. They kept each other’s secrets; they were each other’s confidantes. All that mattered was the other; it seemed that there was nothing in the world but the two of them.

* * * * * * * *

“I don’t mind kissing you,” Natalya whispered against his lips. He was breathing hard, and his pupils were blown wide, and he was wrapped around her. 

“Don’t you?” he managed to pant.

“I haven’t before this, you know. I’ve always hated it. It felt wrong for me.”

“I can’t remember kissing anyone before you, but I know you’re the best. For sure.”

Natalya laughed, pure joy leaking out of every pore in her body. 

Yasha kissed her again and again, and then he broke away. “I want you,” he said suddenly and intensely. “I want to take you into my bed and give you pleasure and--”

Natalya had frozen. Fear and disgust gripped her, and she felt sick. She turned her head away because she was  _ crying _ she was so afraid.

“What’s the matter?” Yasha asked, cupping her chin and searching her face. 

She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m alright.”

“Don’t. Lie.” He wiped a tear from her cheek. 

She sighed. It was getting harder for her to keep things from him. Her icy core of strength was nothing against his persistent kindnesses. 

“I can’t...I don’t want to sleep with you. With anyone. I’ve done it for missions, and they trained me how, and I’m  _ good  _ at it, but it doesn’t give me pleasure the way it does for everyone else. It makes me feel sick and wrong and everything is  _ wrong _ . I’m broken, somehow. I can’t...feel...” she gestured helplessly, trailing off.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” His arms were around her, and she felt safe in them.

“I’ll do it, if you really want it,” Natalya whispered. 

“No. No, of course not. I’d never make you do something you didn’t want.”

She felt the truth in his voice and sighed with relief. 

He stepped away from her leaned against the wall. His face was thoughtful now. “When we kiss, does it make you feel warm inside?” His voice was normal again, the desire mostly gone from it.

“No. Is it supposed to?”

“It does for me.” He shrugged. “Everyone is different. You’re fine. You’re not broken.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I love you,” he said. His voice allowed no room for questioning.

They heard voices from the room next over and jumped apart. 

“No one can ever know,” Natalya said. “They’ll use it against us.”

“I know,” Yasha said. “They won’t.”

* * * * * * * *

Being in love is distracting, Yasha realized. His handler spoke to him, but nothing Pierce said computed. All Yasha could hear was Natalya telling him that she loved him. All he could feel was the ghost of her lips over his and the way that his body responded to her, for the the magick that they made together was strong. 

“Did you hear me?” Fingers snapped in front of his nose; an irritated voice poked at his ears.

He hated Pierce for bringing him back to the present. I can’t be frustrated, he reminded himself. I can’t be anything at all. He shook his head, forcing his his face into its usual blank expression. “I apologize, sir.”

“I said, what is your name?”

He stared vacantly at Pierce, eyes empty, jaw clenched.  _ Yasha _ . My name is  _ Yasha _ , his mind insisted. 

“Soldier.” The word felt heavy on his tongue, heavy and wrong. 

“Good. You know, Soldier, I’ve begun to worry about you. First, there was that incident where you removed your earpiece. Very out of the ordinary and slightly rebellious. And now. You seem distracted. Insubordinate.” Pierce pulled up a stool and sat very close to Yasha. His eyes, cold and cruel and blue, demanding of immediate submission, searched the silent man before him. “You’ve been getting closer to your partner, haven’t you?”

Yasha stared back emptily. 

“Answer me.”

“We work well together.”

“Mm. And have you noticed anything about her? The way she looks? The way she makes you feel?”

Yasha swallowed. “She...she has red hair,” he answered dumbly, the way the old Soldier would’ve. 

Pierce laughed, a single exhalation gusting through his nose. It was condescending and masterful. He stood up. “You can go now. Go on. Get out of here. Do whatever it is you do in your free time.”

Yasha walked slowly out the door and down the hall. He waited till he was in his room to close his eyes and sigh in relief and thank whatever invisible spirits had protected him. He couldn’t keep this facade up much longer. His emotions were too deep, too strong, to keep under such tight control. He wanted to be free, to express annoyance or fear or love anytime he liked. He sat down on his bed and breathed in and out, calming himself. I can do anything for Natalya, he thought. As long as she is safe and I am safe and we both are content, I can do this.

* * * * * * * *

Pierce’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the grainy, black and white image of his Soldier. The man was in obvious distress after their meeting. So. He’d lied about something. The Widow, probably. Something was going on, and he didn’t like it. He couldn’t have the Asset thinking for himself or feeling strong emotions. It might be detrimental to the conditioning. 

“Ah, Mr. Petravich,” he said. “We have a problem.” 

* * * * * * * *

In the middle of the night, Natalya slipped a note under Yasha’s door. “Come train at 0500,” it said. 

All through the night, she watched for him, sometimes pacing, sometimes huddled in a ball. Her mind flitted from thought to thought and finally settled on terror. 

A few minutes before five, she heard the door creak open

“Natalya?”

“I’m here.”

He flicked the lights on. They quivered uneasily before casting a sickly, greenish haze over the room. 

“I like this place better in the daytime,”  Yasha smiled, voice echoing against cold concrete walls. “What are we working?”

“Nothing. We’re getting out of here.”

“What do you mean, getting out of here? Like on a mission?”

She shook her head, grabbed his arms, looked into his eyes with all the intensity she could manage. “We’re leaving for good. They’re wiping you and putting you under. Soon.”

His face paled, and he leaned heavily against the wall. “When?” he breathed, voice shaking. 

“Today. I overheard them talking about it, and I hacked the security cam feeds, and they’re setting up your chair, and we’ve got to  _ leave _ . I can’t let this happen. I can’t lose you--” Her voice broke with emotion. “I just can’t.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” Yasha said firmly. “How hard is it to leave this place?”

Now that she had something to work towards, a goal and a purpose, she could slow the sheer panic that she felt and place all her energy into making a plan. “It’s hard.They watch entries and exits religiously, and basically every area is monitored all the time. And even if we  _ do  _ manage to break out, we’ll have our internal trackers to deal with.”

“Is there a doctor here that we can trust?

“I don’t know. I heal too quick to need them. And anyways, we can’t trust anyone. Only each other.”

“We can take care of the trackers once we get out here, then,” Yasha decided. 

“Good.” She sighed, wiped her hair damp with sweat off of her forehead. “You know, we could always fight our way out,” she suggested, smirking a bit. “You and me versus all of them, we’d win.”

Yasha shook his head, grinning broadly. His eyes said, I love you more than anything. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

It was surprisingly easy, after all, to leave the base if one really wanted to. Computers controlled the majority of the locks, and the system was not too complex to hack. Natalya simply designed a program that told all the doors to unlock at certain times, packed a bag with food and weapons, and left with Yasha in tow. From there, they stole a car and put 1,000 miles between them and their enemies. 

“They’re following us,” Yasha fretted. He was driving, and Natalya was trying to sleep. “We can’t stay on the run forever. We’ve got to get these trackers out.”

“Don’t worry, Yasha. I’ve got a plan,” Natalya sighed. “I need two rabbits, a knife, and a plane.”

He laughed. “Seriously?”

“Mmhmm,” she purred in her deadliest tone, eyebrows raised to her hairline. 

“Alright. Yeah. I can do that.”  


	4. i’d bow my head and welcome them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no excuse for how long it's been since i updated this except life and all its shit. 
> 
> tw for mention of rape

Mornings quickly became her favorite time. The sun dripped through the windows, and having lived so much of her life in darkness, she found herself cherishing the feel and the sight of it. She would close her eyes and let it fill her up until she tingled with it, like a snake basking on the hot asphalt road. Then she’d roll over, and Yasha would be there, tangled hair spread over the pillow, innocent and defenceless. In his sleep, he’d reach for her, and she’d come to his side, and she’d consider the  _ good  _ that her life was. He’d awaken eventually, startled and disoriented. But she’d be there instantly, soothing and reassuring, and he’d lean back and sigh as he woke up fully from whatever nightmarish world he's been living in. 

They never talked about their nightmares or flashbacks or bad memories or anything in the past. They were content with the present. And sometimes they’d talk, and sometimes they’d spar, and sometimes they’d do nothing at all. And there was magic in the knowledge that everything was their choice, that no one would ever tell them what to do again. 

And neither of them would’ve use the word “happy” to define their existence because it hadn’t ever applied to them before; they didn’t know what it meant. But contentment, maybe, was closer to their realm of understanding. And therefore, they were content. 

* * * * * * * *

“I hate them,” she said aloud, sitting on the edge of the bed. She waited for a migraine to strike her down and terror to rise in the pit of her stomach. Her temples twinged a little, and behind her eyes ached. That was all. She took a deep breath. “I hate...the KGB.” Her stomach twisted anxiously. 

“What they asked me to do was wrong,” she snarled. Something snapped inside her; she was lighter and freer, more herself. Less theirs. A shuddering breath tumbled from her chest. It was breaking down, then, the conditioning. In her mind, she poked at it, like a child picking at scab. She grinned, let her hands release from the fists she’d been holding them in. 

“Yasha,” she called. 

He bounded into the room. “What’s wrong?” 

“Watch.” She stood, head high, shoulders thrust back. “The KGB is evil.”

Yasha winced, trembling as though she’d struck him. He grabbed his head, fingers tangling in and tugging on tangled locks. “No no no please don’t say that please...”

She went to him, cupped his face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. But I can say that now. I can say it, and I can think it, and it only hurts a little. And I wanted to show you.”

Yasha breathed in, breathed out. Chewed on his bottom lip. Wiped his hands on his thighs. “That’s good,” he said. “I’m happy for you.”

“Try to say it.”

“HYDRA...is...wrong.” 

“Yes.” 

“No no no no  _ no _ it  _ hurts  _ please make it stop please--”

She moved him over to the bed, pushed him down, curled up next to him. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, stroking his cheek. “But we need to be free.” 

“I know,” he said when he was able. “I know something is changing because a few months ago I wouldn’t even have been able to say that.”

“Doesn’t it feel good?”

“No. It feels like hell.”

* * * * * * * *

Splashing water on her face and through her hair, Natalya caught sight of herself in the cracked mirror. She started. Is that me? she thought and peered closer. There was a light in her eyes, and her cheeks were flushed. She looked healthy, not half-starved, and she was smiling unconsciously. Gently, she reached out to her reflection, touched it gently with a forefinger. 

Yasha came up behind her, nuzzled into the crook of her neck. His stubble tickled her, and she wanted to laugh and nuzzle right back instead of taking him down with some frightened reflex. 

“Have I really changed so much?” she asked, staring into his eyes through the mirror. 

He nodded. “You’re more beautiful now than you’ve ever been, I think.” He spun her around, lifted his human hand to her cheek. “You’re perfect.”

She flushed, kissed him, smiled against his lips. There were hollows beneath his eyes so dark the skin looked bruised. She knew he hadn’t been sleeping. She listened to his nightmares every night, heard him relive the crimes done to him and the atrocities he’d been forced to commit, and she loved him so. 

“I wish you would tell me what you dream,” she said. 

“I don’t remember,” he said. “When I first wake up, I can almost find the memories, but the more I try to catch them, the more they leave, and I don’t know where they’ve gone.”

“I’ve heard you say things,” she started. “I’ve heard...”

Yasha shook his head. “I need to find my own way,” he said firmly, kindly. 

“I understand.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reached over and filled his hands with water from the sink and dumped it on her head. She shrieked and splashed him back, and he laughed then, and so did she.

* * * * * * * *

“We need to go to town.”

Yasha groaned. “Didn’t we just--?”

“Three weeks ago. We’re out of food.”

“I don’t like going. The children stare at me.”

“At your arm, you mean.” 

He nodded reluctantly. 

“For what it’s worth, it’s a pretty arm.” A wicked smirk spread across her face. 

He snorted, shook his head, hid his smile. “Can’t you go by yourself?”

“I need you to help me carry everything.” Cheeks flushing pink, she smiled hopefully. “And I’m picking out seeds for the garden. You could help, maybe? If you wanted.”  

The garden. Yasha sighed. It might as well be  _ The Garden _ the way Natalya had been talking about it ever since they’d discovered the unused plot in the backyard. She’d borrowed books from the local library on gardening, plowed fertilizer into the fallow soil, spent hours burying her hands and feet into it during the golden Indian summer. And now it was spring and time to plant. 

He couldn’t resist the purity of her excitement, couldn’t deny her his presence. 

“Fine,” he huffed. Her smile beamed down on him, vibrant and warm like the sun. He smiled back. They sat in the light of the morning for awhile, drinking it in. 

Behind his eyes, his head twinged. He rubbed his forehead and clenched his eyes shut for a few seconds. 

“Is it a bad day?” She was at his side in a moment, cool hands rubbing his scalp and shoulders.

“Not the worst. I just...” --he pushed his hair out of his eyes-- “Last night, I kept waking up. The name was on the tip of my tongue. I was so close to remembering.” He shook his head. “But it wouldn’t come.” 

“I know. I heard you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, nestled her chin atop his head. “But you will. You’ll remember. After all, no one is here to stop you.” She kissed his messy hair, and he leaned into her. He loved her so much in moments like this, when she opened herself up and gave and gave.

“Let’s go,” he said. 

“You sure?”

“Anything for you, my lady,” he grinned. 

Shaking her head, she laughed and slipped into her mud spattered boots. 

* * * * * * * *

“Can’t sleep?” 

Natalya rolled over to face him. The only thing she could see in the dark was the moonlight glinting dully off of his arm. “How could you tell?”

“I just know. I know you.”

There was a warmth in her chest that only he could bring out, and she scooted closer to him, ran fingers over his chest. He wrapped his human arm around her. 

She loved him so much in moments like this, when he was her safety and security and gave and gave. She pressed kisses to his neck and cheek, and he purred almost. 

“Talya.” 

“Hm?”

“Ask me.”

“How did you know I’ve been thinking?”

“Like I said. I know you.”

She bit her lip and chewed the inside of her cheek, tensed and softened her muscles. “What’s-the-worst-thing-you-remember-doing?” she said in one breath, words running together. 

“Damn.” Yasha exhaled sharply. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, regretting the question instantly. “Nevermind. I just...there’s things that haunt me and they keep replaying in my head. And yet, I don’t  _ hate  _ myself for them, and that’s worse, I think, than if I did.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You can ask me anything. Just...let me think.”

His metal hand played with hers, massaging her palm, playing over her skin, running up and down the length of her arm. 

“I think--it’s fuzzy, and it just came back a few days ago--there was this time when I was undercover. There was this girl that I had to earn the confidence of. She was lonely and not very pretty, and so of course when I came and paid her attention, she ate it up. She loved me more than anything, and she was sweet and good. I ended up...dismembering her elderly parents in front of her.” His chest rose and fell, and his pulse quickened. “Her screams...it made me sick, even then. I don’t even know what the purpose of it was.” He gasped a trembling laugh. “Probably just to test my limits. As you can see, I didn’t have any.”

“Oh, Yasha. I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past now. It’s over and done. What about you? What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

The metaphorical blood on her hands seemed real in this moment; it was thick and warm and it dripped slowly, dragging down her skin. The air was thick, and breathing was difficult. 

“There’s so many...I can’t even remember everything,” she whispered. “I’ve been the cause of so much evil. Can’t you see the blood?”

“I can only see you. And you’re good. Pure. Clean.” 

“I’ll tell you what I’ve done. You might think differently of me then.”

 

_ Ivan, bursting with pride for Mother Russia and the KGB, explains the process that they’ve developed for predicting future threats to the system. Natalya doesn’t care. She just wants to get the information, get the job done. Maybe then the gnawing in her stomach, the empty feeling inside her will go away. Maybe it’ll be enough.  _

_ “There’ll be a child born soon, children actually, that you’ll eliminate before they grow old enough to become threats.” _

_ “Children?” She stares at him in disbelief, forehead wrinkled. “Jesus, Ivan. And I have to kill them based on on your hunch?” _

_ “It’s not a hunch. It’s a very precise algorithm. Like an equation, really.” He rubs his hands together, mad scientist in his insane passion. “It’s in its experimental stages at the moment, of course.” _

_ Natalya shakes her head. “This is fucked up. Even for you.” _

_ Ivan sneers at her. “And so it is not for me that you will do this. It’s for the KGB. For Russia.” _

_ Natalya swallows, tries to fight the poorly buried compulsion to submit to her conditioning. Her hands clench tight and her jaw works. She bites her tongue til her mouth fills with the taste of her own bitter blood. She’s been aware of her conditioning lately. It’s like a grain of sand in her shoe, annoying and impossible to ignore. More out of curiosity than anything else, she’s been fighting against it, pushing her boundaries to see what she can do. Like always, her mind betrays her. She shrugs, gives up responsibility. She has no choice. _

_ “How do you want it done?” _

_ “Any way you desire. As long as you leave no trace, you have full artistic license. I know you’ll do a beautiful, bang-up job.” _

_ She shifts from one foot to the other, back and forth, back and forth. She is twitchy inside. Without a specific plan, there is too much room for error. It is too easy to stray from the straight and narrow. She prefers to fulfill the goals set for her and work within strict parameters. They did not train Widows to be tacticians.  _

_ “Well?” _

_ She nods once at him, exits the room stiffly. Lets the mask keeping her face expressionless slip off when she is a safe distance from Ivan. Her nostrils flare, and her stomach recoils with disgust when she imagines murdering a newborn baby, ripping its throat out before it has time to breathe with it, letting it bleed out on the ground before its body learns how to work by itself. Even with all the killing she’s done, brutal and bloodthirsty as it is, she doesn’t think she could live with herself if she murdered a baby with her own hands.  _

_ But, she told herself, if my hands are not directly responsible for this child’s death, then it will be just a casualty, a mistake. It will not be my fault.  _

 

“You see what I had to do to protect myself?” she murmured. “I committed a greater evil than was asked of me...”

 

_ She seals off the exits. No one can get out. No one who saw her face can leave here alive. The fires start quietly, smoldering in corners and cabinets in the patients’ rooms. The air blasting from the vents fans the flames bigger. By the time someone notices, it’s too late. Flames lick at beds and people, and people cry out in terror. Mothers clutch their screaming children, trying in vain to keep them safe one moment longer. The target and her mother huddle together on the top floor. No one will escape. If they have the presence of mind to break a window and jump to freedom, Natalya is lying to bash their heads in and set them alight.  _

_ “It is finished,” she tells Ivan. She won’t look at him. He grasps her face so she’ll meet his eyes, pinches her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger.  _

_ “I am very proud of you, little tzarina,” he murmurs. Gnawing the inside of her, she nods.  _

_ “I need to clean myself up,” she says, points to the ash and blood coating her skin and the nurse’s uniform she wore.  _

_ “Of course.” _

 

“That was the worst,” she gasped, tears, hot and heavy, rolling out of her eyes. She didn’t mean to let them out. They just came. She let them fall onto her palms, imagined that they washed the blood off.

“I see you the same,” Yasha said. “I see you as Natalya, not Black Widow, and I see you as brave and good and wise.”

“I’ve got so much blood. So much.”

He lifted her hands to his mouth, pressed his lips to them, an act of worship, of consecration. “You are clean in my eyes.” 

She shakes her head frantically. “You don’t understand. They used to force me to fuck men for missions, like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter that I was letting them inside my bodies even though I didn’t want them there.” Words poured out of her now. The floodgates opened, the dam was released. She couldn’t stop them, bitter and painful and ugly as they were. “They taught me how to sleep with men by letting them rape me. I don’t think I was any older than 14 the first time they sent a man to me. I could’ve killed him with my hands, but I let him enter me, take my power and autonomy away. I learned what they like, how to please them. Nothing about me or my body or what feels good for women. Only how to let old, disgusting men touch my body without showing my disgust.” She gasped, leaned over the side of the bed and retched. Bile burned her throat. 

Yasha folded her into his chest, enfolding her in his embrace as she heaved racking, soundless sobs into his skin, dug her fingernails into his back. 

“They took everything from me,” she said finally. “They violated me. I have nothing left of myself because of them.” She turned a tear-stained face to him. “I want them dead.” 

“They took everything from me, too,” Yasha said. “I will help. But first, I need to remember. I need to remember. I need to remember...”

* * * * * * * *

Humming under her breath--she’d discovered that singing was something that grounded her, made her feel less wired and more calm--she meandered down their riverbank, stopping sometimes to toss sticks or rocks into the running water, soaked in every sound and saved it for later when she wanted to remember peace. 

“Talya,” Yasha gasped behind her. His shirt was stuck to his torso with his own sweat, and his eyes were wide and wild.

“What’s wrong?” 

“His name is Steve,” Yasha said. “I remembered. His name is Steve.”

She thought she could hear tears in his voice. “That’s good,” she said, keeping her voice steady and calm so he could lean on it, on her. “Do you remember anything else?”

“His name is Steve, and he had eyes like the sky, and he was my heart, and we were brothers but more. And it’s not enough. I want more. I want to remember more.” His face was tense, full of pain, and his voice broke with the wanting. 

“Do you know his last name?”

“Not yet.” He shook his head. 

“Do you have the pain?” she asked, stroking his hair off of his forehead. 

“A little. But I’m alright.”

“Go to bed. You will remember more tomorrow.”

“You will hold this name for me? In your heart?”

“It is here. See?” She laid her hand across her chest, and Yasha caught it up and kissed it. He strode back to their house, purposeful, and strong, and she followed him.

“Yasha. I’ve been thinking. We should probably move soon,” she said, running a few steps to catch up. “They could have a location on us.”

“But I like it here,” Yasha said, turning the full force of his charm on her. 

She sighed. “For a few more weeks then. When the garden has ripened. But keeping away from  _ them  _ and staying together, these are the most important things.”

“Someday, I’ll kill them all, and then we can live here forever and never have to fight again.”

“That sounds nice,” Natalya smiled. But as they got closer to the house, her sense of unease grew stronger. It’s just paranoia, she tried to tell herself. But it wouldn’t go away, even when there was nothing and no one in inside or around it.

“I think we should go somewhere else  _ now _ ,” she pushed.

“Natalya.”

“Listen. It doesn’t hurt to be safe...”

“There’s a difference between being safety-conscious and scared of your own shadow. Ever since we left, you’ve been jumpy, always looking out for invisible enemies.”

“Because I don’t want to go back there! I don’t want to kill innocent people or be privy to Ivan’s obsession with me. And  I don’t want you to lose what you have gained here, to turn back into a machine. Yes, I am afraid. I am very afraid. I don’t think you understand.” She bit her tongue, slowed down her words, tried to make him understand. “Yasha. We do not have the luxury of certainty.”

The muscles in his jaw tensed and bulged like they always did when he was conflicted or angry or scared. “Tomorrow. We’ll leave tomorrow. Is that good enough for you?”

“I suppose.” But it wasn’t. It didn’t feel right. 

When they lay down to sleep that night, Natalya’s eyes did not close for a long time. 

 


	5. and it echoes in my teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mention of rape

She was waiting for him when he got out of the ice. Five years had lasted far too long without him, and she relayed the scene over and over in her head. She didn’t know how they’d found them, but they had, and they’d burst the door open of their little house in the countryside, guns held aloft. They hadn’t taken a chance; they tranquilized them both immediately. Natalya didn’t know how long she’d sat alone in the dark, but when they took her out of the cell, her eyes burned with the harsh, white lights. Yasha was there, and his eyes were still  _ his _ own, so she thought they would be alright. 

But then Ivan and his men had come and started beating and taunting Yasha. They’d walked in without a word to her, yet she knew that the display of aggression and brutality was to punish  _ her _ more than  _ him _ . They wanted to break her again, as if seventy years of constant torture and abuse hadn’t been enough. And Yasha just looked at her the whole time, drinking her in like it was the last time he’d see her, and his eyes were not angry; she read no regret in them, and somehow, she knew that he was saying, over and over again, that he loved her. 

And she tried to say, “I love you, too,” with her eyes, but she didn’t know if they spoke anymore, for she was completely dead inside. This had killed her. 

Then his handler, the cruel, pretty man, was asking for a mission report, and Yasha wasn’t answering, and the handler was beating him mercilessly, and Natalya wanted to cry or scream or murder them all, but they had Yasha, and she would not cause him any more pain than she already had. 

They wrestled him into a chair and restrained him and began to prepare the wiping process. Something within her broke, and she slipped out of her cuffs and ran forward and grabbed his face and kissed him frantically and whispered “I love you I love you I love you” and “I will remember forever” and tears fell from her eyes quick and fast and hot because he was the best thing that she could remember, and when this was over, he would not remember her, and she  _ hated _ them for that.

They’d pulled her back, arms held tightly behind her back, and put the machine over his head. Resignation had washed over him; she could tell by the way that he slumped into the chair and his face went slack and empty. And then, as electricity crackled from it and began frying his brain, he  _ screamed _ , and even the people who were used to exploiting his pain glanced at each other uncertainly. 

It went on and on and on. And she wanted to scream with him, because she felt a little of the pain that he felt. But her voice died away at the same time that his mind did, and she could only glare at them with all the hatred that she could muster. And she watched as an empty-eyed, compliant man that she did not know was lead from the chair to a waiting cryo-chamber. 

She must have passed out or something, because when she woke up, she was back in her own bed. For one moment, she thought that it had all been a terrible nightmare, but then Ivan was there. The dead weight of loss rushed into her heart and filled it up; the sharp ache of hatred burned up through her skin and tingled at her fingertips. 

“I’m going to kill you,” she said to Ivan before she was really aware that she was speaking. “I’m going to hire someone to rape you bloody and raw, and I’m going to tear your skin from your sinews and your muscles and your bones, and I’m going to let you bleed out slow, and I’m going to laugh at your pain the way that you laughed at mine.”

“Do I need to wipe your memory the way they wipe your lover’s?”

“You’re not worthy to even mention him,” Natalya spat. She sat up slowly, cleared her mind, set her teeth. “Listen to me now. I will do what you ask. But no more partners. No more. I’ll kill them as fast as you give them to me.”

Ivan held up his hands. “No more partners. Understood.” He cleared his throat. “I have something simple for you today. Information extraction. Thought you’d want to get back into the field slowly. File’s here.” He pointed to her desk. “Be ready in an hour. A chopper’s going to drop you very near location.” He backed out of her room. 

She’d slumped against the headboard of her bed. She wanted to sleep, to bury herself in dreams and memories and not have to feel again. But she was the Black Widow, and so she got up and carried out the mission and then another and still another.

* * * * * * * *

And it had been five years, and her one request in all that time was to be there when Yasha woke up, as if she were waiting for a miracle, although she did not believe that such things as miracles existed. 

His first words were, “Ready to comply,” and she felt a pain in her chest, and she was surprised to find it there because for the past five years, she had felt nothing at all. 

She walked up to him, and he looked at her like he didn’t know her (because he didn’t), and she almost reached out to touch him. But she didn’t want to face what would happen if she did.

* * * * * * * *

“I called you Yasha,” she said to the man who had been Yasha once. His blank, cold eyes turned to her. She cleared her throat. “I called you Yasha, and we were friends and lovers, a little, and I knew you better than anyone and...” her voice trailed off because she was going to cry, and she didn’t want to. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Before they wiped you, you told me that you were trying to remember something, and I swore that I would be here to remind you when you woke up. And so here I am.” 

He turned away from her. She bit her lip fiercely. The taste of blood was better than feeling what was in her heart. 

“What...what was I trying to remember?” His voice was rusty and confused and empty, and it was familiar yet made of dreams, and she loved it so. 

“A man. A friend. His name was Steve Rogers. I found him for you. And your name is James.”

“I’m sure I’ll thank you someday,” he said distantly. “And I’m sorry for you. You look sad.”

“I can’t ever do a mission with you again,” she said. “I’m going to ask to be reassigned. But if you want to know more, I’m  here at the compound.”

“Thank you. I am going to be leaving soon with my handlers. Hydra has need of me.”

She nodded. “Of course. Of course.” She stood up quickly. “I need to go now.” Her throat hurt, and she thought she was going to be sick. She ran and ran and ran until suddenly, she found herself at Ivan’s office. The door was open, and Ivan got up from his chair and came towards her. She flinched away.

“Widow. What is wrong?”

“Don’t touch me,” she gasped. “I need...I need...I need to not be here for awhile. I need you to send me away, to a different country, across the oceans or something. Just so I’m gone.”

For once in his long, miserable life, Ivan did not argue with her. “How does America sound to you?”

“Fine. When can I go?” 

“That depends on how quickly I can figure out something for you to do there.”

“I’ll be a sleeper agent. You can tell me whenever you know. I just need to get out of here.”

“You’ll be on the earliest flight tomorrow. We’ll have costume and props pack you some bags, and I’ll have a new identity, an American one, ready for you.”

“Good.” She ran out of the office and down the halls until she found herself in the the little room where she and Yasha had spent so much time; she went to work on one of the bags and struck at it until her hands were covered with blood. All she could feel was blood seeping from the cracks in her skin and the throbbing in her wrist where she’d jammed it. 

This is it, she thought to herself. This is it. I’m done. Once I’m gone, I will not be theirs anymore. I am not a slave. Just like Yasha said once. 

Then, “Oh, Yasha.” Tears dripped from her eyes. Furiously, she scrubbed them away, but as fast as she did, more came. Pain and tears tore away at her scabbed, scarred, leather-skinned exterior, like how sand and waves and persistence rub jagged glass shards clean and smooth. And such was the strength of her will and agony that skin walls grew back stronger and thicker than before with no cracks in it at all, no weakness. No way for someone to get through to her soft, vulnerable core. 

“Excuse me?” Another agent was at the door, a young one. A new Widow. 

“What do you want?” 

“They said this room was open...”

“Sure, yeah.” She scrambled for her jacket and left, never meeting the girl’s eyes. 

My time here is done, she thought. 

 

And she breathed and let it go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end of part 2! look out for part threeeee

**Author's Note:**

> this really only makes sense if you read part 1: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5771257/chapters/13299988


End file.
